We meet on the seam of a cloud
and the curving horizon
the land leans away from.
The country is unfamiliar.

Much like our lives,
suspended for a moment
at this point of intersection
of pleasure and pain.

After crossing the river,
you crushed what you thought
was a snake but turned
out to be nothing.

I must tell you something: 
one country is much like another,
irregular borders
in constant negotiation.

Much like our lives,
the small space
we make for ourselves
in the slow drifting years.

I can still feel the wind
wrapped around my heart
on a cold spring morning, even here
know the hard sound of rain.

 

Hear it:

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